<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Bonnie and Clyde by comebackjessica</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003285">Bonnie and Clyde</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica'>comebackjessica</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Hannibal Lecter Is Obviously A Cannibal And Loves To Imply It, Hannibal Would Like Them Both For Dinner, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Psychoanalysis, Sexual Content, Small Heath (Derogatory), Soft Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby Loves Alfie Solomons, Two Gangsters Love Each Other And They Show It, Various Neuroses Of One Thomas Shelby, Will I Ever Write A Normal Tag?, there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Shelby visits the office of a mysterious alienist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Tommy would like it to be known, however, that it was all his idea, he is there of his own accord, and his family is most certainly not holding his business hostage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bonnie and Clyde</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Would I like forcing Tommy into therapy to be my own personal brand now? Boy, would I! But do I also make him see deranged lunatics posing as psychiatrists every single time? ... boy, do I!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy Shelby has been looking out the window for the past three minutes and a half. He knew because the loud grandfather clock in the corner of Doctor Lecter’s office just struck the full hour. Coincidentally, the only windows in this room did a very poor job, all things considered — somehow the office still seemed gloomy despite it being only noon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“During our last appointment, we talked about your relationship with your aunt,” Doctor Lecter said, looking at Tommy with an unreadable expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smirked to himself and reached for his cigarettes, then lit one in an almost mechanical movement. The stuffy air in the room started to cause him a headache and the nicotine deficiency didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a strict policy against smoking, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an entirely blank stare, Tommy let out the smoke through his nose. “I’m paying you for the full hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That may be so,” the doctor nodded, calm and serious, “but this is still my place of business. Please put that out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy squinted at that, full of suspicion, and did no such thing. They eyed each other for a minute before the doctor stood up and walked towards his desk. He opened a drawer and came back, carrying a heavy ashtray made of brass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. Put that out,” he said calmly and held it out towards Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head, then took the last deep drag and put out the cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Doctor Lecter said with a small smile and put down the ashtray on the side table next to Tommy, as if not entirely trusting him in controlling the impulses. “So. Your aunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Pol doesn’t like to be talked about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal smiled at that, as if amused by the thought. “Thomas, anything discussed in this office stays here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head, face back to serious. “I have no way of verifying that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why would you need to verify it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the doctor got was silence and Tommy slowly licking his lips, looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you; my occupation is based on trust. I have no reason to break yours, that is if I want to keep you as a client.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked back at the doctor and frowned. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you want to? I’m just a bookmaker from Birmingham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That incited a small smirk from the other man. After another moment of silence, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over the notebook on his lap. “And how is that going, Thomas? The races.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Tommy nodded and looked away again. “Surprisingly well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why surprisingly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy squinted at him again and clenched his jaw in annoyance. “You keep questioning me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Occupational hazard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffed at that and took out another cigarette, then shot Doctor Lecter a defiant look. He tried to challenge him but seemed more like a petulant child in that stance than anything else. Tommy rolled the cigarette end on his lower lip and lit it, then took a long, desperate sort of drag and looked away again. Doctor Lecter said nothing to that. He was still calm and motionless, watching Tommy as he smoked, with a thick cloud surrounding him together with the absolute assurance that he made his own rules wherever he went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe in your work,” Tommy said then and Doctor Lecter smirked to himself, realizing his waiting game was slowly paying off. “Alienism,” Tommy spat out the word as if it pained him to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most people don’t.” Doctor Lecter nodded and made a small note with a pencil; at least Tommy thought it was a note. The more he looked at the motion, the more he thought it might have been sketching. Was the doctor sketching him, then? Was he just another lunatic, but one that wanted to know his intimate thoughts? Tommy scoffed and took another long drag of his cigarette, looking up. A piece of him, it was always what they wanted. The entire bloody world wanted to suck him off for a favor, suck him dry for their own gain, chew him up and spit him out for revenge. Hang his organs around their throats for a trophy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He straightened back up in his seat and looked at the doctor coldly. Doctor Lecter still looked at him the same way as before — focused and composed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wanted to send me to Bedlam,” Tommy said, looking somewhere above the doctor’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Doctor Lecter said, face still entirely motionless. “Why didn’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A particularly sardonic smile spread on Tommy’s face. “My sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The communist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful. Doctor.” Tommy practically hissed at him now. To his utter annoyance, he saw Doctor Lecter doing his best to hide a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, Thomas? You mentioned it earlier yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m allowed to say that, though, aren’t I?” Tommy said through clenched teeth. Unsurprisingly, Doctor Lecter reached back for the pencil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing now, eh?” Tommy said, then stood up from his seat and walked briskly towards the alienist. Doctor Lecter closed the notebook and held out his hand to stop him. To Tommy’s disappointment, he still looked calm and smug as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Thomas. No need to get defensive, these are just notes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These aren’t fuckin’ notes! You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>drawing!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tommy pointed his cigarette at him as if it was a gun. As a matter of fact, he did have his gun on him — on the arm holster, always by his side. He didn’t feel like threatening the good doctor with it just yet but should the occasion present itself, he wanted it evident that he had one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Doctor Lecter said to that, looking up at him all innocently and infuriatingly serene. “I was sketching you. For my reference in your file.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy let his hand fall back down his side and he almost dropped the cigarette. He wasn’t used to people being this open and honest about their wrongdoings with him. It usually required a little bit more manhandling and slicing their eyeballs open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an excellent memory that is mostly triggered by visual images,” Doctor Lecter explained. “As it happens, I also have an unusually keen sense of smell, always had, ever since I was a young boy. That is why I would really prefer it if you didn’t smoke, Thomas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wasn’t used to people explaining their feelings and expectations this calmly, either. With his family, it was always mixed signals and yelling. And with his lovers… well. His latest adventure was probably the most insane and unstable of them all. He was also the very reason he has found himself in Doctor Lecter’s office in the first place. His family made him — a deviant, they called him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sick. Deranged. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Funny, that… They never called him this before, even when they saw him kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” the doctor said, pulling Tommy out of his thoughts. “I understand the sensitivity of your circumstances. The very circumstances that have brought you to me. And I am prepared to indulge your habit, Thomas, if you are prepared to make an effort as well in return. Without it, I’m afraid there’ll be no progress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still entirely astonished by the doctor’s calm and collected manner, Tommy huffed and took one last drag of the cigarette, before turning away and putting it out in the ashtray. He still couldn’t tell if he liked this composed approach towards his person or if he was going to shoot the man in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sat back down and looked outside the window again before shrugging and lighting another cigarette. “Make an effort,” he repeated in that monotone of his. “Fine, I’m listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, he saw another smirk from the other man, one with a certain smugness attached to its meaning. Tommy sighed at that. He couldn’t really shoot him, now could he... That was the deal between him and his family. He had been caught. Red-handed even, or in this case — with a man’s four fingers up his ass, panting and moaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So no. He couldn’t kill the doctor and make a run for it, not really. His business depended on it; his business depended on him still having his family. And this was only the beginning of said business, wasn’t it. He had great plans… He was just getting started and the sheer thought of all that planning going to waste and his greatest creation so far just casually </span>
  <em>
    <span>slipping through his fingers </span>
  </em>
  <span>just because his desires got the better of him—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about the man,” Doctor Lecter said then and Tommy looked at him, eyes wide as if he had just been slapped across the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one you are sleeping with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt a corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly and he hated himself for it. He tried to mask it by smoking but deep down inside he knew the doctor had already seen it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to say,” Tommy made a wide gesture with the cigarette, not really sure why or to point out what, exactly, “he’s just a man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have there been others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That actually made Tommy chuckle. He shook his head and put out the cigarette, then shook his head once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear you served in France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he laughed out loud. He looked up towards the ceiling and truly began to weigh his options here. Should he really indulge everyone in this ridiculous farce? Or should he just leave and… Well. Go where? True, he had some money now — some hidden, some on him, some where his family would never find it. He could leave, technically. Disappear. Go into hiding like the pathetic, outed little queer they made him out to be. Since he wasn’t welcome at home now but was apparently very welcome in an asylum, perhaps he should make everyone happy and, like mother like son, get himself committed. Now wouldn’t that solve everyone’s fucking problems? Perhaps they would even let him out for a walk or two, drugged out of his mind and not even in a good way. Perhaps he would find himself a river then or a dirty puddle, and just put his face right in the middle there, inhale one last time and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back at the doctor and sighed. He really needed a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one proved to be something which finally gave the good doctor some pause, Tommy was happy to note. Besides this sick bastard sketching him and probably imagining him without any clothes on, he was also intriguing in a way — especially the way he talked and how he talked. Tommy couldn’t place his accent for the life of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you feel sick?” Doctor Lecter asked, his composure fully restored now. “Or… was your question rather: would you like me to voice an opinion and say whether I think you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy waved his hand dismissively and shrugged. “Either or. Doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter chuckled at that and shook his head. That surprised Tommy and it made him actually look the man straight in the eye instead of just away or somewhere at the vast book collection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Despite the popular belief, I don’t believe homosexuality to be abnormal, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at him now, he really looked. The doctor had his full attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was fascinated with the recent publications by Edward Carpenter, have you read them?” Doctor Lecter asked and Tommy noticed he wasn’t mocking him, as people tended to do when it came to his education, literacy or… some shortages in both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said slowly, still a bit unsure what was really happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he wasn’t the first… But he was definitely the first to get his point across to a reader like me.” Doctor Lecter nodded and, seeing the meaning behind Tommy’s gaze, he shook his head slowly. “I am not like you myself, but I sympathize. And I do not think you’re sick, Thomas. There are other qualities I’ve seen in your person that have given me greater pause than you having had sexual intercourse with a man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such as?” Tommy asked suspiciously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your chain smoking,” the doctor said with a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that a joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you find it funny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged and reached for yet another cigarette. “A bit,” he muttered with it between his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter hummed at that and looked towards the bookcase closest to his desk. “Of course Carpenter wasn’t the first. But,” he said as he stood up and approached it, “I liked him the most so far. The other one I could recommend is von Kupffer but I’m not sure if you speak German?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy snorted at that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There it was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The mockery from the learned man. “You know I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Doctor Lecter turned around and Tommy could see genuine surprise on his face. “Well. Forgive me. But here.” He took out a book and handed it to Tommy. “It’s a rare publication, though. I will want it back so please consider it a loan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at the cover and rolled his eyes immediately. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>My Days and Dreams</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he sneered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Doctor Lecter sat back down and opened his notebook. This time, Tommy noticed, he actually wrote something down. Or maybe he was just being more careful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He put the book aside next to the ashtray. A thought hit him then, and he really hated himself for it, but he wondered if Alfie had read it. He also immediately realized the bastard not only most likely had read it, he would probably have an opinion on it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like us to discuss it next time,” Doctor Lecter said then. “Friday, next week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked back at the book and weighed it in his hand. He didn’t like to read, not really. The words tended to jump before his eyes and more often than not he would fall asleep mid-sentence. But... he’d be damned before he would let Alfie have an opinion on something he knew nothing about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sooner,” he said and put the cigarette back between his lips, then reached for his coat. “I’ll call your office.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” Doctor Lecter nodded and opened the door before him. Tommy frowned at that but said nothing. “Until next time, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy went back to his hotel, the book small enough to be securely hidden in his coat pocket. Even so, he still felt like carrying contraband all the way to his room. He left it there and then went back downstairs to use the phone. It’s been nearly three weeks since his stay in London and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t see Alfie. It was time to end the charade, though. He wanted to see him; for the past three weeks the wanting has nearly destroyed him. Now he finally felt brave enough to do something about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smiled to himself when he heard the gruff voice. “It’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie paused at that and Tommy closed his eyes for a second, trying to imagine his face. It was getting hazy and he wanted nothing more than to refresh the image. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. “The rental lodgings on Hampstead Lane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he hung up and went out to buy himself a bottle of whisky. He knew he still had time before and if Alfie even got here. He wasn’t sure if this here was Alfie’s turf and he didn’t really care. If it was — good. He liked stepping into it unannounced and being a thorn in the man’s side. If it wasn’t — even better. He might get lucky and actually get Alfie to fuck him just for territorial pissings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was on his third drink when somebody knocked on the door. He reached for his gun and switched the light off. The door was open and whoever was outside it entered without any further permission. Tommy made sure then to make his presence known by loudly engaging the safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Tom…” Alfie grumbled as he stepped inside and loudly shut the door behind him. Tommy was suddenly very glad the room was so dark because he could feel his cheeks burning bright and hot. “I didn’t come ‘ere, right, summoned like a fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>dog </span>
  </em>
  <span>just to be fuckin’ insulted by that li’le gun of yours. You shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smirked and turned the safety back on, then put out his cigarette and downed the rest of his whisky. It was foul but it was the only thing he could get in the neighborhood at this hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuckin ‘ell…” Alfie huffed and patted the wall blindly, then switched on the light. Seeing him all clearly now made Tommy’s stomach clench and not entirely unpleasantly, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm…” Alfie rested both hands on his cane and looked straight at the other man. Tommy lifted his chin as if defiantly and met his gaze with a little smirk. “So. Here y’are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here I am.” He took one last strong drag on his cigarette and put it out. He knew they could both speak freely, or shoot each other, without that many witnesses for at least four more hours. This place wasn’t exactly a hotel, it was a rental most frequented by factory workers and prostitutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, last time I saw you, Tom…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what, mate?” Alfie raised his eyebrows and squeezed the handle of his cane a bit tighter. Tommy looked at the numerous rings and the crown tattoos and swallowed hard. He remembered vividly what these hands could do. He also remembered them in another context entirely, on his person mostly, and suddenly felt himself getting a bit hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Definitely not how he wanted this to go just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t stayed in touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know that, don’t I?” Alfie raised his cane then and for a second Tommy was very glad there was still a safe distance between them. He had a gun nearby but Alfie probably had two. Instead of attacking him, though, Alfie gestured around the room. “Now, I don’t see ya for weeks, yeah, I don’t hear from ya, I ain’t invited to yer funeral, nothin’, right? Now, I wouldn’t go, don’t get me wrong, mate, but still… would be nice to get a lil’ invitation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t come to my funeral, Alfie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, ‘course I’d come. Whoddya take me for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just said…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I said what I said. You’s would make it into a funeral pyre somewhere in the fuckin’ woods, mate, ‘s what your people do. My people don’t go there anymore, if you catch’ me sayin’, mate, bad fuckin’ luck awaits us in the fuckin woods, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smiled to himself then and shook his head. God, he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, alright. I’d come. But it’s only because ya ask so pretty, yeah?” Alfie shook his head and took a step closer, then sat at the edge of the bed with a huff and took off his hat. He looked around again, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re coming, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To my funeral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, yeah. ‘Course.” Alfie frowned again. “We’re mates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mates who fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy noticed Alfie licking his lips then and that gave him tremendous satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, that’s the best kind, though, innit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie was smiling at him now, the bastard, and Tommy found himself returning it. Just a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s…” He cleared his throat. “There is something I wanted to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. It’s about this book, Alfie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate…” Alfie rolled his eyes but Tommy was relentless. He started something, alright, and he had to see it through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By Edward Carpenter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie looked straight at him then. It felt as if a spark had gone between them and Tommy noticed a certain kind of look that he wouldn’t have seen in the other man all that often. It almost felt like… affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Alfie said, voice low and raspy, “now lemme get this right, mate, just so I don’t mix up my dates, now… I’m an old man, you’ll forgive me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smirked at that and poured himself another whisky. He said nothing. To the best of his knowledge, they were nearly the same age — but fine. Let’s keep up the personas for a little while longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came to the city four weeks ago, on a Thursday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy said nothing to that, he just drank and stared blankly at the door. It remained unlocked and he wondered then if perhaps he should lock it — either because his plan would work or just to make Alfie’s life more difficult when getting rid of his body. He would come to his funeral, though, he said so… Would he still come as the man who killed him? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably, yeah. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, why was that thought so comforting? Tommy had no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, you’ve spent nearly a week at a ridiculous hotel on Percival, where you were promptly ambushed by yer fuckin’ family. That was a Tuesday.” Alfie fixed his gaze on him again and Tommy noticed some sweat droplets forming on the other man’s forehead. He must be getting hot in that coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should take it off,” he said, pointing at Alfie with his cigarette and leaning back in his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was sitting in a chair directly by the wall, right in front of the entrance, with his back to the window. Not the best seat, but at least he could feel the cold coming in through the crack in the glass. It helped him keep his cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you on about now, Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The coat. You look hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I try, don’t I?” Alfie grumbled and ran his hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you embarrassed I said that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Said what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” A wicked smile spread across Tommy’s face and Alfie squinted at that, looking furious. He got up and took off his coat, then hung it on the wooden peg above the door. He left his cane there, too, which Tommy took as a very good sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, now, Tom…” Alfie cleared his throat and gestured towards him, “you ran away from the family, now, yeah? Tried to hide in the city, did a very poor job at that, though, mate, didn’tcha? Yeah… ‘cause you ran straight into my arms like a frightened lil’ boy. Hmm…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie was right in front of him now, looking down at him with arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed. Tommy licked his lips now, tasting the whisky. God, it was awful. He took another drag on the cigarette but Alfie took it forcefully from between his fingers, then put it out, breaking it in half. He looked back at Tommy, still furious. Or perhaps… just looking like that. Who knew with him, really? Tommy glanced at Alfie’s forearms, suddenly wanting to trace the hair on them with his fingers. Alfie didn’t dress up for the visit and he still smelled of rum. He had a crumpled shirt on and the sleeves were rolled up. He must have come straight from the bakery, then. Tommy was flattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Camden Town, mate,” Alfie growled, as if trying to re-establish his presence, seeing as Tommy’s mind was elsewhere. “You hid in Camden of all places. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know Hampstead was still yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, ‘t is. Yeah. But you knew that already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really didn’t, Alfie. Can’t keep up with your turf wars, not really.” Tommy shrugged and took another sip of the whisky. The more he drank it, the more he hated it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t believe ya, mate. You knew and you came to me. Might as well have crawled under my bed, Tommy. So why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I under your bed?” Tommy shrugged. “Guess I really liked being in it the first time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up then and met Alfie’s gaze. He immediately saw his words had the desired effect. Alfie’s eyes darkened but it was very different from when the man was angry; Tommy knew that already. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it made Tommy a bit harder still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Alfie pointed at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, mate, none of that. None of that from ya!” Alfie shook his head and turned back to get his hat. “I don’t hear from ya, you send your </span>
  <em>
    <span>brothers </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do business with me—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brothers?” Tommy frowned. “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Alfie turned around. Alright, now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that… </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was anger. Tommy realized this immediately. He straightened up in his seat, feeling his back stiffen. Alfie was still Alfie and he had to be careful. He was allowed certain things but only because Alfie allowed them and Tommy knew that, as much as he hated the man having the upper hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never sent my brothers. I haven’t sent anyone. They…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie waited for the other part of that sentence but it never came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doin’ in London, Tommy?” he asked, this time a bit quieter which should have made his voice softer but it somehow didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked away from him for a second. “Waiting. Mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie nodded and sat back down on the bed. “Alright, lemme get this… in order. Order’s somethin’ we currently lack in the fuckin’ situation, Tom, now—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wanted to send me to Bedlam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shadow passed over Alfie’s face then and Tommy realized it was fury. For some reason, though, he knew it was not directed at him. He couldn’t tell how, exactly, he just knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yer family…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were caught, Alfie. Red-handed. Or hand-in-ass, I don’t know—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, mate, wasn’t an entire hand, I was just workin’ on that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy squinted at the smirk that followed the sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I ain’t bein’ funny though, am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” Tommy said, through clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie sighed, seeing his expression, and shook his head. “Fuckin’ hell…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. I didn’t send anyone. They came on their own.” Tommy nodded to himself and traced the barrel of his gun with his finger. “Last time we talked, it was three weeks ago. On said Tuesday. My sister managed to convince them to give me a little time, she found me a doctor—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A doctor?” Alfie spat out, his angry expression back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An alienist, or whatever they call themselves.” Tommy downed his drink. “That was the condition. I see the doctor—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what, eh? They force-feed ya laudanum, they shoot ya up with poison, they send electric current through yer brain till they fry it like eggs?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned and looked back at Alfie. He didn’t even see him stand up which was a moronic fucking move on his part because the man was right beside him now. He didn’t look like he wanted to threaten him anymore, though. What he saw in Alfie’s face was concern. Anger, too. But concern and that tiny, tiny shadow of affection back in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, they will. Nothin’ good ever comes out of these… these doctors. There are doctors and there are doctors, Tom. These fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>alienists </span>
  </em>
  <span>are sadistic fuckin’ charlatans.” Alfie shook his head and put both arms on Tommy’s shoulders. “Whatever he was tellin’ ya, Tom, alright? You silly fuckin’ boy, whatever he toldya was a fuckin’ lie and manipulation, alright? Yer smarter than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy winced at that a bit. “He told me I wasn’t sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, as expected, gave Alfie a little pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me… sleeping with men wasn’t sick. And he gave me this.” He handed Alfie the Carpenter book and immediately noticed recognition in the other man’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie opened the book in the middle, then turned a couple of pages, as if seeing if this was the one he thought it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, what the fuck…” he said quietly and closed it. “‘Ave you read it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question was genuine and Tommy noticed some real interest thrown in there, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he smiled to himself, “but I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that…” Alfie cleared his throat and placed the book back on the side table. “Y’should, yeah. It’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can discuss later,” Tommy said, still smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie smirked at the words. “Yeah, like proper fuckin’ homosexuals, eh? Sittin’ together by the fire, agonizin’ over fuckin’ learned discourse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Alfie chuckled at that and stroked his beard. Tommy knew Alfie tended to do that when he was mulling something over. Or when he had things to say that he would ultimately never say. “Alright. What else did the good doctor tell ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy smiled to himself and shrugged. “Nothing much. He asked me some things, I told him nothing… I think he was sketching me, though.” He frowned, eyes back on Alfie’s hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>why were they just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Idly at Alfie’s sides, instead of on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, probably, the sick bastard, but who wouldn’t? Yer fuckin’ gorgeous.” Alfie’s voice was back to low and serious and it somehow managed to sound comforting to Tommy’s ears. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed silent for a while until Tommy heard the floor creak and opened his eyes to see Alfie taking a turn around the room. There was not much room there to stroll around, but Tommy knew the other man was thinking and so he decided against disturbing his process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could come with me,” Tommy said, after a couple of minutes of Alfie silently pacing back and forth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He raised his head, as if surprised that Tommy was even here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time. You could come with me. See for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie huffed and shook his head. “Nah, I ain’t seein’ no one like that. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned, wondering if perhaps there wasn’t some past experience hiding behind Alfie’s specific knowledge on the mentioned asylum proceedings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie stopped pacing then and crossed his arms against his chest, looking at Tommy as if he wanted to tear him apart with his teeth. Feral animals looked like that sometimes, Tommy knew. Right before you kill them and they’re trapped, and they look straight at you — that’s how they look like. That’s how Alfie looked at him now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I’m seeing him in a couple of days. On Wednesday. But I’ll probably stay here a couple more weeks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie looked around the room then, as if seeing it for the very first time, then he looked at Tommy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, ‘ere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes. It’s private.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a fuckin’ disgrace, is what it is, Tom.” Alfie shook his head then and walked straight to the door, put his coat back on and took his cane, then put on the hat. “Take yer fuckin’ things. Leave the bloody whisky, ‘t smells fuckin’ foul, mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned and did no such thing. He lit another cigarette, though, and kept his eyes fixed on Alfie, seriously questioning the sanity of every person currently in this room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s fuckin’ go, mate!” Alfie raised his hands up, trying to tell him to hurry up. “I ain’t fuckin’ you in that excuse for a bed, yeah, I also don’t know when’s the last time you had a bath, but it must’ve been somewhere at the muddy banks of the fuckin’ river in fuckin’ Birmingham, right, ‘cause ya </span>
  <em>
    <span>look it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Nearly an hour passed since Alfie drew the bath for him and Tommy still refused to leave the bathtub. The water turned lukewarm but it still smelled nice and it was milkywhite now from all the soap Tommy had used. Alfie, knowing nothing about the concept of personal space, stayed in the bathroom with him, on the stool behind the tub. He washed Tommy’s hair for him, which was the most intimate fucking thing someone had done for Tommy since changing his diaper in infancy, probably. After Tommy had scrubbed and washed and almost gnawed at every inch of his skin, Alfie took the Carpenter book and started to read it aloud. Tommy relaxed as he listened. Now he just sat there in the water, hugging his knees and resting his cheek on one, nearly falling asleep like that — listening to Alfie Solomons laying down the queer fucking discourse for him, in that deep raspy voice of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright there, sweetie?” Alfie would ask, after turning every other page. Tommy would just hum then in response and keep his eyes closed — stiff and growing uncomfortable but absolutely refusing to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Alfie was the one who decided that any more time in the water would probably result in a cold and so he put down the book, then picked up a towel and handed it to Tommy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright. Up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffed and opened his eyes just to roll them at him. He grabbed the sides of the tub, however, and sighed, then got up — stiff and cold but definitely clean. Alfie wrapped the towel around him and helped him out of the tub, but then, to Tommy’s surprise, he wouldn’t let go. They stood like that, Alfie holding him close and Tommy dripping water onto the white bathroom tiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m…” Tommy frowned and looked straight at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a question lingering in those eyes of blue and so Alfie just leaned in and kissed him already. Tommy smiled into the kiss and pulled away just to rest his forehead against Alfie’s, licking his lips. Alfie couldn’t stand that for even a second. He took Tommy’s face in his hands, surprisingly gently, and kissed him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy let himself be led to Alfie’s bedroom because despite the cold water dripping off of him everywhere now, that bath has left him boneless and compliant. There was softness in Alfie, one that Tommy hadn’t seen in him ever before. He dropped the towel to the floor and lay down on the bed, watching Alfie undressing slowly, even the rings. After that, Alfie joined Tommy on the bed as if it was routine. They kissed for the longest time, Alfie’s beard scratching Tommy’s cheeks and the soft skin around the mouth, and later on his neck when Alfie placed tentative kisses there. It was all so sweet and gentle that Tommy almost couldn’t stand it but knew he’d be damned if he said one word about it or forced Alfie to stop — he would rather eat his hat, to be perfectly honest, razors included.</span>
</p><p><span>Alfie worked him open then for what felt like </span><em><span>hours</span></em><span>, deeming his handiwork complete</span> <span>only when Tommy turned into a hot, moaning mess, and his mind became molasses; sweet and dark like rum. Alfie fucked him on his side, up close and personal, bruising Tommy’s neck with violent kisses and tracing his back with warm, large hands; playing him like a violin. It was all too much and too slow and too deep and in the end it felt like climaxing and suffocating both at the same time. After that, Tommy didn’t remember falling asleep because he couldn’t hear the shovels — just Alfie breathing so heavily and so close to him that it felt like a joint effort.</span></p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter’s office felt just as stuffy as before, but this time Tommy lit a cigarette immediately so it was slightly more bearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’re feeling better, Thomas.” Doctor Lecter said as he gracefully sat down in the armchair in front of his patient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just shrugged and looked away, trying his best to make his entire person seem stiff and uncomfortable. It couldn’t be done. He was too relaxed, his mind too quiet. He tried to square his shoulders and clench his jaw but in the end couldn’t really be arsed to do it properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you read the book?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Tommy nodded and reached into his coat pocket, then placed the book on the side table. He tapped it on the cover and nodded once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t read it — it was read to him, as if Alfie somehow knew that Tommy wasn’t really much of a fan of the written word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>exactly had Alfie come to that conclusion, who the fuck knew. But he did read it to him, Tommy didn’t even have to ask. He didn’t fall asleep listening to it, either — it was mutual. They napped like two old men and Tommy never wanted that routine to end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you think?” Doctor Lecter said and Tommy noticed again how that little smirk there had very little to do with joy. It was... </span>
  <em>
    <span>amusement</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but with a much darker context, its true meaning known perhaps only to Hannibal Lecter himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It found it whiny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor chuckled at that and tapped the open page in his notebook with a pencil but wrote nothing down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that same thought often strike you about people, Thomas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it does,” Tommy sighed and put out the cigarette he was at this point only holding for comfort. “I don’t really understand how everyone doesn’t think that about most people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some people would call it contempt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged at that, as if asking “So what?”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you feel that? Contempt towards your fellow man?” Doctor Lecter was resting his head on his hand now, looking genuinely interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an entirely new gesture that Tommy found a bit distracting. People usually didn’t listen to him so intently, not unless he was threatening them or had just finished inflicting unimaginable violence upon them or their loved ones. Or both. That interest stroked his ego a bit more than Tommy would like to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter smiled again and this time took a note. Tommy rolled his eyes but said nothing to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how is your fellow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My what now?” Tommy nearly spat out the words. His old stance was back in seconds: shoulders squared, jaw tense, eyes murderous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter smirked at that again, the bastard. “How is he? I see a positive change in you, I think he must be responsible. Is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t,” Tommy said quickly, a bit more defensively than he’d like it to sound. “I haven’t seen him in weeks, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he certain that the alienist didn’t believe him, Tommy had no idea. But he could see it in the other man’s eyes, he could see it in his entire bloody face. He was still smirking and so bloody sure Tommy was lying…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, of course he was. But what was he supposed to say, really? That he basically started living with Alfie; has been for nearly a week? That if it were up to him, he would never come back to his depressing room in Small Heath and his loud, intrusive family? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he even miss them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your family? Have you been in contact?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy snorted and lit another cigarette. “It’s hard not to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And are they supportive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took a very long, suffocating drag and let the smoke out through his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. My family’s supportive of nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like a daft, rebellious youth as he said that but he couldn’t help it. The doctor wanted to know his thoughts and he felt like telling him some.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lecter nodded to himself. “And the business? Has your brother taken over for the time being?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy snorted at that and shook his head. “Nah, he’d never do business with my—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped himself just in time, or so he thought. The doctor was looking straight at him now and Tommy felt his hair stand up on the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody,” Tommy barked and looked to the side as he smoked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. We have two nobody’s with us today. Are they perhaps one and the same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wanted to stand up and leave but he knew very well this all would have been as good as admission. He shook his head but that convinced exactly no-one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And is your… business partner equally morally inclined?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wanted to somehow ask the doctor to clarify that but he knew he didn’t really have to. He had a gun on him. He had a reputation and even though it hadn’t reached London yet, it was probably very easy to make inquiries about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seemed to amuse the doctor even more and Tommy honestly couldn’t tell why. Perhaps Alfie was right after all, perhaps all of them alienists were just no less dirty bastards than them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fascinating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I must say, Thomas…” Doctor Lecter paused for a second, looking Tommy straight in the eye. “I would love to have you both for dinner sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when Tommy saw it. That darkness coming to the surface, that suffocating bloodlust that he’d seen only once before, in the trenches. Doctor Lecter had it and he knew that somewhere deep inside he had it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But could the doctor tell?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt it,” Tommy said dryly. “He keeps kosher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why, exactly, did that make Doctor Lecter smile like that, Tommy had no idea — but he knew he had no desire to find out, either.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>